Human racetrack/cushion

Yesterday, being Sunday, we went to church. Sick hubby stayed home and left me to entertain five children for an hour in the chapel. Little Sunshine (3) was not cooperating and I had to half drag him into the church. He wanted to go home and be sick with daddy. So when he sat on my lap and pulled out his cars to play, I was very thankful. I was even okay when he used my arms as racetracks. But when he decided to connect the two racetracks, and "leave them here" meant crossing my fingers and holding my arms at an awkward position, I had a few problems. But when I moved, he got louder. So what is a mom supposed to do? Yes, I sat there, arms aching, while he raced his cars up and down my arms. I even laughed when he decided that my shirt sleeves were garages and put the cars up my sleeves. The things we do to keep kids quiet.

Supermom hits a brick wall

So, what happens when supermom has surgery on her foot and has to use crutches for two weeks? Her superkids come to the rescue.

I spent last weekend plopped on the couch with my foot propelled in the air with a pile of pillows. I was told I could get up to go pee. That was it. I was to stay put for three days. Luckily, I didn't really think through the whole surgery idea and its consequences, or I would probably still be hobbling around on a sore foot instead of clomping around on crutches.

My husband stayed home on the day of the surgery and took care of me. He did really great on Saturday too. By Sunday, he was tired of playing foot maid to the surgery queen. I don't blame him. I'm rather obsessive compulsive and get upset easily when you stir my hot chocolate with the big spoon instead of the little one, or set the remote control down on my left side instead of my right. Well, maybe I'm not quite that bad. Okay, yes I am.

I was really worried about Monday morning. I had to get the kids off to school, get myself off to school, and go to work that night. However, superkids came to my rescue. They fought over who got to make my hot chocolate and who got to toast the bagels.

My Ellie has been very awesome. She has inherited her mother's obsessive behaviors (bless her heart) and she is really great at doing everything I need without my asking her - and exactly the way I would do it. Our dog has been on antibiotics. I asked her to fix a snack for him with his pill. This is a true show of her tendancies.

"Ellie, get the baggie down that has a piece of bread in it and tear off a piece. Then put a little bit of peanut butter on the bread, push the pill inside it, and fold it in half." Ellie gets everything down from the cupboard and sets in out. She tears a piece of bread. Then she says, "What side should I put the peanut butter on?"

Oh yes, I am raising a child to be just like me. I've apologized to her many times. At least I can help teach her how to overcome the obsession. Like I have. Really. Okay, not.

Anyway, I have been very humbled. I cannot do everything. I have found out how to carry a glass of water (okay, a can of Dr. Pepper) across the floor without spilling it. I hop around a lot in the kitchen and can clean for about 10 minutes before my "hopping" foot hurts too badly. I can sit on the folding table in the laundry room and fold clothes. I can even make my bed. But there is a lot that I can't do - and it takes four times as long to do it. I have had to resign myself to the fact that my house is not going to be spotless for the next few weeks, and I have to stop looking in the kitchen so I don't cringe at the mess. Recovery from hitting a brick wall takes a little time.

Shoe shopping and pecking ducks

I have a sign on my bathroom wall that says "Raising kids is like being pecked to death by a duck". Today, my little ducklings and I took a trip to the mall for the Buy one, get one 1/2 off shoe sale.

Normally, I am a Payless Shoes kind of mom. Not personally. I buy good shoes for myself. But for kids who grow out of them every other week, or lose them, or decide to color them purple with a "washable" marker, cheap shoes fit the bill. But not this year. This year I can afford to buy nice shoes. So we went to the expensive shoe store. I'll probably regret this next week when Handsome can't find his left shoe.

Once I entered, I realized my first problem. I had brought four children, but was only buying shoes for three of them. I felt the tension in my neck before the first whine came out of little Sunshine's mouth.

Secondly, I had three children that all wanted me to play shoe salesman with them. "What is my shoe size, do they have these that will fit me, can I try these on" was a chorus blaring through the aisles. Little Sunshine took his shoes off in anticipation of trying on new ones, and he wasn't getting any.

Somehow, without any over-the-counter medications or hair pulling, we found shoes and an extra pair for Boobear, who is away at camp. We made it to the cash register. The salesperson assured me that I could get Boobear's shoes ordered in her size and shipped to my house, all for free. But when checking on the computer, she found out that she couldn't get me "these shoes". So I headed back to the aisle for a different pair.

That's when my littlest girl duckling followed. I don't remember what she was asking for, but it flowed in a never ending string of words. I just remember the feeling, that pecked-kind of feeling. I lost it. I wasn't kind. Couldn't she understand the stress and frustration at having to walk 20 feet to get a different pair of shoes? Didn't she know the anger and inconvenience that was raging through my mind? Okay, maybe I was having a moment. I realized it and chilled. It was only shoes, after all.

Swimming pools and the pool police

So, I took my kids swimming today, like most days in the summer. I sometimes have to relent to avoid the endless whining about nneeevvveerrrr going swimming. Being the awesome, kind, loving mother that I am, I gave in and trotted off to the pool with my kids.

Pool policewoman was there. I haven't talked about her before, because I seem to get a tick below my left eye when I think about her. She counted me and my children when we walked through the gate. I've decided that next time we go swimming and she is there, we will proclaim our numbers loudly by shouting them out to her as we walk through...1...2...3.

There is a general misunderstanding that we cannot seem to agree upon because, either I am misunderstood or this policewoman has nothing better to do but sit in the pool and count my children. (There are five of them, it's a no brain er.) She seems to believe that the rule #14 in the pool membership, that states: "10 or more guests constitutes a party" actually means you and your family and any people you bring that total ten is a party. She tried to explain that it could be interpreted like this: "10. Or more guests." Then when I didn't fall for that, she decided that the secretary typed it up wrong 7 years ago and it's strange that no one has caught it yet.

I kept my cool through all this, but when she accused me of breaking the rules that exist solely in her mind, I lost all reason and argued back. I do regret it. I got mad. It happens. I have thought about going over and apologizing for losing my temper and yelling at her, but I really don't want to face her. Maybe when my eye stops twitching.

Bargaining amongst my children

This weekend brought a day I always wish for; the toothfairy talk. Ellie wanted to know if the toothfairy was real. "Yes," my heart cried. "One more down." We talked about what she thought and ended with "don't tell your younger sister or brothers." Then realization dawned on Ellie: "but can I still get a dollar when I lose a tooth?" My heart fell. I quickly replied "no" and walked away fast, hoping to avoid the sunken face and pout that were sure to follow my reply. Of course, Ellie went and moped around in her room. I ignored her.

Then I found the note. Placed on my pillow, with a marker for my reply. "Can I get a dollar every other time I lose a tooth? Write yes or no on the back and return to me."

Didn't I teach her to try other methods when the results weren't what she wanted? Shouldn't I be proud of my daughter for trying to find a solution that works for both of us? Instead I thought, "Oh sure, now I would not only have to remember to put the dollar under the pillow, but also remember if this was the paying time or the not paying time."

My reply: "We'll see." I know it's a cop-out, but I can only dish out disappointment so many times in one day.

My desk at work

I work a real job during the week, and I want to put all the cute pictures of my kids on my desk, but alas, there is not enough room. So I've found this really cool picture frame that is digital, and I can win it for free. I just have to provide a link from my blog (that's right here) to the contest url, that's here - and shamelessly publish my blog for my chance to win.

See, this photo frame would be great on my desk because I could have one frame with tons of pictures, and I would even consider buying it because I like it so much - but it's $250 - and I somehow can't justify that. So, I'd really like to win it. If you are reading this post, please don't enter the contest yourself. Let me win, okay? And yes, my guilt is setting in already for promoting this, but if I win the picture frame, it will all be good.

Money is so important - Not!

My ex-husband and I have joint custody of my oldest daughter, who I'll call Boobear. She will be starting junior high next year. Boobear's dad has four other children at his house, I have four other children at my house. She spends 1/2 a week at each house (she has a crazy schedule but loves it, fortunately). My ex has always been obsessed with money. Feels like it makes him into something. Self-confidence issues anyone? In fact, in our divorce, he said "I'm losing my wife and daughter. I want to keep the house so I have something to show for the divorce." I don't know if it was more pathetic that I gave it to him, or that he "needed" it. Anyway.

My daughter has a style of dress that is similar to mine: jeans, t-shirts, casual, neutral colors. I feel comfortable in my clothes, feel like "me". He has recently started this thing with her where he wants her to dress so that people know that he has money. He actually said those exact words to her. "I want you to dress so that people will know that I have money."

I've tried to talk to her (walking on eggshells so I don't bash her dad) about how money doesn't make you a good or bad person, it doesn't make you better than someone else, and it's not as important as other things, like being happy, liking yourself, etc. I talked to the ex about being careful with how he words things to her. Yet, he has done it again.

They took their kids shopping at Dillard's. Now, maybe when I have as much money as him (whatever) I'll want to blow my money buying the same dress for $75 as I can get for $40 - but probably not. I love sales. I don't think that will ever change. My kids dress nice. But they wear what they want, not what will make people think that we have money by looking at our children's clothes.

Okay, so they took them shopping for Easter dresses. At Dillard's. Told Boobear that she could either find a dress there or not get one at all. Hhhmm. No pressure. Or maybe it's no choice.

I also took Boobear shopping for an Easter dress. (Dear ex does not want her clothes from his house to come to our house. We often rip our clothes apart and set them on fire, just for fun.) We went to 7 stores before she found the dress she wanted. We also looked at Dillard's. And Mervyn's. And The Children's Place. And found one, finally. And it's nice. And it was on sale.

I just hope she looks like we make money when she wears it.

Four kids equals how many plastic cups?

I'm getting a new wood floor and dishwasher in my kitchen this week. Dear hubby took out the dishwasher last night after making sure I was okay with the idea. He is so trained. Anyway, I asked him to run one more load of dishes so I only had to deal with breakfast dishes today. As a side note, let me mention that I really dislike washing dishes. My hands don't feel pampered soaking in hot soapy water. Instead, they feel dry, and my nails are so soft that they bend and break. I don't like it. At all.

Okay, so the dishwasher is out on the back deck, tossed out for the lastest, greatest, newest dishwasher available. That's a whole other blog. Breakfast is over, lunch is over (take-out leaves no dirty dishes) and I just washed the breakfast dishes. Well, I washed the bowls, spoons, and seventeen plastic cups. Seventeen. I had four kids home last night. Figure one each last night, one each this morning, count with me here. How did we get to seventeen? Are the cups multiplying during the night?

Last summer I took the kids to the store and they each picked out their own unique plastic cup. (Never mind that this is a margarita cup and this one is a wine glass.) My idea was that they would use their cup each day, one cup, and they would know it was theirs because, well, they picked it out. It didn't work very well because they didn't want to put soda pop in the same cup they had put milk in earlier. It was a good idea, just didn't take. I think I'll instigate this Unique Cup Program again and show them how to wash their cup between drinks.

Guilt and denial

Last night during our nightly phone call, my two youngest girls told me they had a surprise for me. They said I would see it when I got home. I figured they had drawn me a picture or left a note. What they did was to clean their room. And I mean CLEAN. You can even see the dresser! And as a bonus, they did not stuff anything under their beds. (They mentioned that tidbit this morning. I laughed.) Ellie even cleaned out her dresser and f-o-l-d-e-d her clothes. Wow! I mean, WOW! I was impressed.

Then, this morning, I am awakened by four children (Boobear is at her dad's house) who brought me breakfast. In bed. It was even good. Just what I wanted for breakfast. And there were notes that said "Thanks for being a good mom. You are the best."

Why do I feel guilty? Why is the first thing that pops in my head: "I'm not a good mom, I don't deserve this?" Am I striving for some level of perfectionism that is not only out of reach, but impossible since I don't even know what I'm striving for?

I am a good mom. This can be my new daily affirmation. You are a good mom. You don't beat your children, yell at them (unless I need to be heard), or make them wear old fashioned clothes. You might give them nicknames that they will have to defend later on (thanks, anonymous Nate!) but you are a good mom. Affirmations make me think of Saturday Night Live way back when I was in college. I am good enough, smart enough, and dog-gone it, people like me. Now if I could just find some friends.

Is it a Utah thing or do moms everywhere advertise their kids?

Okay, I don't know if this is just a Utah trend or if this is something that is taking place all over the country - (I live a rather sheltered life) - anyway, it's really trendy to have vinyl clings on your car. I have some Hawaiian flowers on the back window of my Durango. But the most popular images are usually found on minvans. They show a cartoon picture for each member of the family, mom, dad, brother, sister, sister, and cat. Then some of these vinyls go so far as to include a name for each family member under the cartoon image.

Am I the only one that thinks this is just nuts, or am I over-paranoid? To me, this is saying: look, I have a boy named David who is about this size (must refer to picture) and loves baseball (again, the picture). If you are interested in kidnapping him, please just follow my minivan. I may make 15 stops before I get home, but you can see where his school is, where we like to shop, his favorite playground, where his friends live, and where we live. Please use any of these places to plan your kidnapping.

Is it just me?